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[bluestar22x]

Boo!

Summary: You buy a mansion on the cheap having no idea it's haunted by the previous owner's friend

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ (mature readers only)

Word Count: 5,900(ish)

Warnings: "Enemies" to lovers vibes (they annoy each other at first), recreational drug use mentioned, medical stuff, subtitle mentions of sex/yearning, ghost Dieter follows you around the house but isn't a total creep about it - he's just really bored and invisible, AU?, foul language, fluff

Author’s Note: This was created for Jamie's Halloween Writing Challenge by @mermaidgirl30 - I already had the idea of writing ghost Dieter before this challenge, so I thought it was the perfect time to write it up. The theme I chose is "haunted mansion" for obvious reasons. I was slightly inspired by a movie some may or may not know.

xxx

You had bought the mansion on the cheap - hardly a million dollars despite the huge, modern layout.

Just outside of New Orleans, the mansion was only one of three you owned as an unusually successful author. One of the few that had gotten rich off of making a crime novel series that had later become a successful drama show that was still running after five years - a true feat in modern entertainment.

Your other two mansions were in Los Angeles and Denver, the first being your main home when working and the second being a winter holiday escape, a place where you could go and experience what winter was supposed to be like. You had grown up in Maine, and it hadn't taken you long after moving to Los Angeles to miss the changing of the seasons, even if you didn't quite miss the often dreary weather.

This mansion in Louisiana was supposed to be another escape, one close to a city with rich history and lore. Spooky lore, that was. You were thinking about writing a vampire series - what better place to inspire you than New Orleans?

Though you'd moved there specifically for the stories of monsters in the dark, you avoided the creepy mansions listed on the realtor sites like a plague. Just cause you were interested in writing it, didn't mean you wanted to live a horror-themed novel.

Your mansion was boring compared to the centuries old mansions and plantations nearby and far from any swampland. It was also only ten years old - a baby mansion that had little chance of having been able to attract attention from any supernatural beings.

Not that you really believed in them, but you were the type not to press your luck. Every time you had in the past, you'd paid for it.

However, the universe had to have been against you, as it often was, because after only one week in your new vacation home strange things started happening.

It began with misplaced items, something easy to dismiss when you were still unpacking and organizing the place. You'd set down a mug of coffee on the countertop and find it on the bar later on or, to your dismay, the living room end table without a drink coaster underneath it. You'd throw a fresh shirt on the bed and enter the bathroom to take a shower and find the shirt on the floor when you returned. You'd place the manuscripts on your desk in a neat pile and find them disorganized the next morning. Things like that.

Then after a month more concerning things started happening. You'd lock a door and find it unlocked minutes later. You'd hear heavy footsteps on the second floor when you were in the kitchen or living room downstairs and you knew no one else was in the house. You'd see doors creak open on their own when they hadn't done that before.

Suddenly the cream colored modern mansion felt unsafe despite the high tech alarm system being in full working order and having never gone off.

You took to listening to music almost constantly, attempting to block out the feeling of unease you felt when everything was quiet. What you thought was your irrational side screamed at you to leave, to sell the place and go hang out at your Denver mansion or return to your main home, but your stubborn, so called rational side balked at the idea. You didn't want to admit defeat against a haunting you were pretty sure was all in your head or had explanations that were not of the supernatural kind.

Then one morning, the day before Halloween, you wandered downstairs to find a strange man sitting at your bar, dressed in ripped blue jeans, a dark tan oxford shirt, and a pair of tan slip on sneakers. You also had time to note that he had a graying patchy beard, sunglasses, and a single gold loop earring attached to his left ear before the fear set in and you screamed.

There was a complete stranger in your house! An interloper! Whatever his reason for being in your kitchen was, it had to be no good.

"Holy shit, you're loud!" he snapped, jumping in his seat. "Why are you freaking out so early in the morning?"

He turned to face you and his jaw dropped when he realized you were starring directly at him. "Wait, can you fucking see me?"

"Of course I can fucking see you," you spat. "You're in the middle of my kitchen, seated at my bar. Get the fuck out before I call the police!"

The man rubbed at his temple, his head pounding, which was really unfair, he thought, considering his situation. "Lady, if I could, I would, you are the saddest company I've ever kept, but unfortunately I have no say in the matter. I was here before you and I can't leave. Believe me, I've tried."

"Clearly you haven't tried enough," you hissed, pointing an index finger at the front door. "Try again."

He sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically, though you couldn't see the latter action behind his shades. "Fine, if you insist."

He pushed himself away from the bar, sliding off the stool he'd been seated on, and headed for the door. He opened it and glanced back at you, finding that you'd trailed him with a glass vase in your hand.

At least you were a resourceful recluse.

He braced himself for the sensation of being catapulted back into the mansion and sure enough, as soon as he stepped through the threshold he felt whatever force that was keeping him inside push him back.

He landed on the tile floor several feet away from the door in the mess of his long limbs. "Oof."

"What the fuck?!" He heard you yelp and he groaned.

"Told you."

"What the hell was that?"

He stood up slowly and massaged his lower back. "That was what's keeping me from leaving, sunshine. Now that you've seen why I can't go, I'll let you guess how this situation began."

"A voodoo priest cursed you to eternity in here?" you guessed, purposely trying to come up with what you thought would be a ridiculous answer. You still were trying to recover from what you'd just witnessed. People didn't just get thrown by invisible forces, yet there was no realistic explanation for what you'd just seen.

"I wish," the man huffed. "But it's not a curse. Not as far as I'm aware. Well, maybe. Maybe some god thought it would be funny. But I'm pretty damn sure it wasn't a person who did this. I don't remember much, but the last thing I do remember before this was partying with a friend, breaking my one year drug sobriety with a dose of some pretty fine cocaine, and then waking up splayed out in the middle of the living room - a very empty living room. By the time I worked through my denial over what had happened to me, you had moved in."

"You overdosed?" you questioned, breath catching because that would mean...

"Yeah, that's what I figured," he replied. "I'm not one hundred percent sure about it. Usually I was always careful about that. But it's not like I hadn't overdosed before." He put his hand out - "Long story." - And sighed heavily. "All I know is I'm dead."

You covered your mouth in shock as you pieced it all together. "You are the one that was moving things, making noises. Did you do that on purpose?"

"What? To scare you?" He looked amused. "I wish I was that clever. Maybe I'd have better company by now. But that was just me trying to keep my sanity. You don't know how maddening it is to wander around a boring mansion all day unable to interact with anything, not even a damn spoon. I'm not good with isolation. Glad the practice paid off."

You walked into the living room and collapsed into your leather couch. "This can't be happening."

He took off his sunglasses as he followed you in and you met his dark but surprising soft eyes for a moment. "What's your name, anyways?"

He placed a hand over his chest and acted shocked, a little stung by your lack of familiarity with him. You could tell he was just being dramatic and didn't really care. "You don't know? Hint: I was an actor who was having a great Hollywood comeback when I died."

Your mind was blank. You didn't know a lot of actors by name, or by face for that matter. You didn't watch a lot of TV and movies, your preferred entertainment being reading. Your office walls were covered by filled bookshelves.

You shrugged at him.

"Dieter Bravo," he told you. "My name is Dieter Bravo. Almost everyone I know calls me Dee though."

"Do I know you now?" you inquired.

"Hardly," he snorted. "But I know you enough, unfortunately, no offense."

You rolled your eyes at him, annoyed. "You can't insult me then claim no offense. I'm gonna take offense. Especially since we've never even talked before now."

"Sorry," Dieter apologized half-heartedly. "I've just been going crazy and all you do is sit at your desk writing or read on the couch. And you seem to prefer it that way."

"Introverts do, yes," you said. "But I can be fun when I want to be. I'm going on a tour of the city tomorrow."

You didn't mention that you were going alone. You hadn't made any friends in the city yet. That always took you a while. Something that most actors probably had little trouble doing. People begged for their friendship or more, didn't they?

"Is it one of those ghost tours?" he asked. "Cause that would be ironic."

You held your tongue and kept your comment about him having used the word ironic wrongly to yourself. You were pretty sure that was something someone boring would point out. You weren't sure why you cared about what a dead addicted actor thought about you, but you did for some stupid reason. Probably because his untamed curly hair looked very tuggable and his jeans were tight in all the right places and you hadn't been laid since your last book tour. Handsome guys were your weakness. You weren't usually into jerks or addicts though. Losers, as far as you were concerned.

Instead, you let your mind wander to all those times you'd heard things moving around while you were undressed or in bed. "Please tell me you haven't been stalking me this entire time."

"Stalking is a strong word," he protested. "We're in the same house for hours on end. We have silently interacted, or rather been in the same room. And I might have been watching you, but only when you were dressed, cross my heart."

"That's comforting," you said sarcastically, but you believed him. No one with so much disdain towards your daily activities would have bothered to peep on you, would they? But he could be the type who didn't care if a girl had personality, as long as she had boobs, right?

You decided it was not worth the trouble thinking about. Not when you had no idea how to get him to move on, or at least get him out of your mansion.

"So, what unfinished business is keeping you here?" you inquired. "Last I heard that's the only way either of us is going to get some peace in the forseeable future."

"Ouch. Fair."

"Do you know?"

Dieter shook his head. "What unfinished business don't I have? My latest movie will never finish filming, my girlfriend broke up with me over the damn phone on my way here, I have no idea if Perry overdosed too or if he's still alive, and my family all hate me."

"Surely not," you said. "They just didn't know how to help you with your addictions anymore."

Dieter blinked at you. "I thought you didn't know anything about me?"

"I don't," you replied. "But I've had a couple relatives, not close ones, but still, they got addicted to painkillers and they wouldn't let the family help them, so my family got angry at them and gave up trying. You can't help those who don't want to be saved is how my mother put it."

"What if they wanted to be saved but didn't know how to accept help?"

The vulnerable question, seemingly uncharacteristic, threw you off. You stared at him and Dieter glanced away. "Just asking," he muttered.

"I don't know," you told him honestly. "Same applies. It can't be one sided. They would've had to find a way to accept it. But they didn't. And they've been buried six feet under for five years now."

Dieter nodded.

"I don't think I could help you with your family issues," you continued on. "But I can tell you Perry is alive, if he is the same Perry who owned this place as I assume. He sold me the mansion three months ago, a month before I moved in."

"That's good," he said, scratching at his neck. "I knew from your calendar and your phone that it has been six months since I died, but I didn't know if he was still alive. I can't remember him ever coming back. Maybe he did and I just wasn't...aware at the moment. Time is different now for me. And I think ghosts actually sleep too. Kinda."

"The realtor showed me this place," you told him. "Perry only showed up to finalize the paperwork at her office. Maybe it was too painful for him to come back?"

Dieter pursed his lips. "Maybe."

"Did that help?" you asked hopefully. "See any doors or light to go into?"

He barked out a laugh. "If only! But there's nothing. Guess we're not getting rid of each other that easily." There was a gleam in his eyes that suggested he wasn't as annoyed about it as he was before. It was actually playful.

"Too bad," you stated, smirking.

He chuckled. "At least we can talk now."

"That we can, so long as you promise not to keep watching me like an invisible creep while I sleep," you said.

"I do not."

"I've felt it," you hissed.

"It's hard to look away," he admitted. "You do know you drool, right?"

"Shut up."

x

After your first run in with Dieter you didn't see him for a few days, and you wondered if he'd finally moved on, but of course, no such luck.

You choked on dinner when he popped up next to you at the dining room table on the fourth day.

"Sorry, didn't mean to almost kill you," he said humorously, patting your back.

You felt nothing when he did it. Maybe a cold breeze, but nothing really notable.

"Where've you been?" you inquired once you'd recovered.

"No idea," Dieter answered. "I think showing myself to you all afternoon zapped all my 'spirit' energy. What day is it?"

"November three."

"Damn. Oh well."

"You going to use your newfound 'spirit energy' to find a way to move on?"

He pouted. "Said like I wasn't trying to do that before. And jeez, in a rush, are we?"

You huffed. Like he'd given you a reason not to want it fast. It would be way better for you both once he found peace.

"Aren't you?"

"Of course I am!" he shouted before pointing a finger at you. "But I'm not leaving before I give you this advice: don't wear jeans on the night of your death. You may think they're comfy, but they're not. Not after weeks, months in them. I miss my pajamas. My robe."

He sighed wistfully and you couldn't help but chuckle at him. "Alright, advice taken."

He whirled and phased back into invisibility, leaving you alone until the next morning, when he nearly made you choke on your breakfast.

x

Days turned into weeks like this, with Dieter spending minimal time with you as he made attempts to figure out what he needed to do to be free of the mansion, as he tried to make peace with the things that haunted him in hopes that resolving his unfinished business would open the beyond up to him, but slowly, the more hope he lost, the more time he spent with you.

It started with meals, watching you eat and participating in discourse that became less and less hesitant and hostile over time, turning into shockingly friendly debates and banter.

It turned out Dieter wasn't so bad to be around and he wasn't the loser you'd thought he was, or had been. One search of his wikipedia page and a few youtube videos had settled that for you. He had worked hard to gain his success, spending nearly a decade taking guest star role after guest star role, working in a bar when the roles and his money dried up. And when he did find a major role to catapult his career, he continued to take as many roles as he could.

He was known for partying hard on weekends, but he never showed up for work high.

He enjoyed comfy clothes on his time off, and especially loved wearing his light green robe, sometimes even going to his local coffee shop in it, but he cleaned up well for interviews and other important functions.

Dieter had a good reputation despite his addictions. It seemed like his fellow cast members always had nice things to say about him, even those who worked with him on the disastrous set of Cliff Beasts 6, which was apparently where he'd had his first overdose.

By Thanksgiving you were solid friends, and after you left for the holiday to visit your parents and home in LA, you returned with a souvenir for you both - a fridge magnet with a picture of the city buildings just beyond the Hollywood sign. You'd noticed Dieter seemed homesick and you sometimes felt it too. But you wouldn't leave New Orleans until Dieter figured out how to move on or until you were forced to. The magnet gave you a daily reminder of what it looked like.

As Christmas neared, Dieter began hanging out with you in the living room at night, watching whatever you were watching, which were mostly Christmas movies in December. He did it even when you watched Hallmark, though he'd roll his eyes and make sarcastic comments about the plot throughout those.

"They always fight and break up over an assumption," he rattled on more times than you could count. "Dumb ones at that. His jealous ex flaunts her a ring and says it is from him and the leading lady just bolts without asking him if it's true? And they said I needed therapy."

"You needed therapy."

"Well, not as bad as that bird."

Dieter couldn't leave the house to get you a Christmas gift, and you'd agreed you both would spend Christmas Eve, the night before your parents arrived to celebrate the holiday, just curled up on the couch together as usual, but that hadn't stopped him from giving you something anyway.

He'd thrown a box at you, unwrapped and told you to look inside and you'd found a beautiful charcoal drawing of you writing away at your desk inside. The sight of it made your breath catch.

"You did this yourself?" you questioned, stunned.

"Yeah," he replied. "It took a lot of energy out of me, but I got it done in a few days. I know we said no gifts, but I wanted to give you something anyway. You know, since I can't pay rent."

He'd expected you to laugh at the comment but you were too busy studying the image. He'd gotten every detail, right down to your blemishes. He'd put a lot of care into drawing you. It felt...reverent.

When you tilted your head up to look at him, you did it differently. You saw him in a new light. And though he was in the same jeans and shirt as he always was, you thought he looked particularly handsome in that moment, chocolate eyes hopeful.

"So, do you like it?" he asked nervously.

"I love it," you assured him. "But I...didn't get anything for you."

"It's okay," he said, "Free rent."

"You are the least messy roommate I've ever had," you told him. "But you've got to stop sneaking up on me and making the rooms cold."

"The temperature is out of my hands," Dieter said, shrugging. "Unless you want me to turn up the thermostat. I've mastered turning dials."

You smiled. "I'm good tonight."

x

You should've known better than to get drunk alone on New Year's Eve, but you did.

No, you weren't alone, alone, but you were the only one drinking since Dieter was not physically able to drink. And he should've been the last person you'd hang out with drunk.

Being drunk made you silly, made you excitable, and it also made you bold.

One minute you and Dieter were laughing loudly, and the next you were leaning towards him. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure. Anything."

You leaned in closer and lowered your voice, "It really sucks you are dead, Dee. It sucks because I really wish we could kiss right now."

Dieter stared at you, dumbfounded, but the shock quickly turned into glee. "We could still, you know."

"You've gotten good at making yourself more solid," you said, "But I can't feel you whenever you touch me, Dee. I don't notice it unless I see you doing it. That's the only way I know. By sight."

"Well, you've never focused on it before, have you?" he inquired. "It always takes me a lot of focus to hold anything, even a pen, for long, but I do."

"It may not seem that way, me being a writer, but I'm terrible at focusing," you admitted.

Dieter brushed your cheek compulsively and you smiled weakly at him.

"Can we try something out?" he asked.

"What'd you have in mind?"

He nodded at the couch. "Turn off the lights and lay down on your back and close your eyes."

You raised your eyebrows questioningly, and he flashed you a reassuring smile. "Trust me."

You did as ordered and Dieter took a moment to take your prone form in, peering through the darkness, and he noticed how your fingers were twitching due to your inability to ever keep perfectly still.

He couldn't believe he was finally going to kiss you. Two months ago he wouldn't have wanted to. He'd had bigger concerns, and you weren't his usual type.

But with time and forced proximity he'd grown to enjoy your company. You were smart, generous, surprisingly witty, and he'd always found you pretty.

He doubted he deserved you, he was certain you were better than him, but you wanted him to kiss you, and lately he'd wanted that too. He couldn't deny you.

He approached the couch and sat down next to you, leaning over you so his face hovered above yours.

"Try to clear your mind."

You nodded and did as told, doing your best to keep all thoughts at bay while your heart thudded in anticipation against your rib cage.

Then you felt his lips on yours. They weren't warm or cold, soft or chapped, and they didn't taste like anything, but you could feel the pressure of them. You could feel when he moved his lips, when he deepened the kiss, when his hand reached out to cradle your face.

You reached up for him automatically, your eyes still shut, and you could feel his strong neck under your hands, could feel the tips of his curls at the base of it.

There was something electric about the moment, and you moaned softly as you let the sensation consume you. The more you got lost in it, the more kissing Dieter felt real.

It was sobering.

You gently pushed him away and opened your eyes to find him gazing back into yours, a confused look on his face. "What's wrong?"

You shook your head as tears flooded your eyes. "I can't, Dee. I can't do this with you. You're dead."

"Pretty sure we just did," he said, wiggling his brows suggestively. "And if we can do that, imagine what else we might be able to do with time."

"I can't," you repeated. "Someday you will move on and I'll be alone again."

"I'll wait to move on only after you die," he declared. "Problem solved."

You shook your head again, harder. "That's unfair for us both and you know it. I don't want to spend my life keeping you a secret, and you don't want to stay cooped up in this house for another four or more decades. You'll go mad."

"Not with you here," he swore, his hand gliding down to squeeze your upper arm.

"I can't take that chance," you said, standing up. "I'm sorry."

You began to walk away, but in the archway to the hall you turned to face him again.

"You should keep looking for your way out," you told him. "Make it your priority again. Cause next week I'm headed back to LA. I've got a book that's going to hit shelves in three weeks and my editor wants to plan some last minute fan meet ups for when it does. I can't stay here while we're doing that."

You tried to avoid looking at Dieter's face but you still got a glimpse of the hurt on it.

He was so upset he didn't say anything to you back, and you told yourself silently that it was easier that way.

You climbed the stairs, quickly curled up in bed under your sheets, and tried to think about anything but him until you fell asleep.

You had no idea that when you woke up in the morning, he'd be gone.

x

Steady beeping was the first thing Dieter registered when he gained consciousness in the hospital, but it was far from the least pleasant thing about the experience. That had gone to the bright lights briefly, then to the uncomfortable feeling of his feeding tube that was pulled through one of his nostrils.

Dieter would never call waking up from his coma fun. It had been confusing and exhausting (he thought that was ironic) and he’d been sore from not moving for a long time, but at least that discomfort felt short compared to what came after.

He'd been in a coma for nearly a year and that had taken a toll on his body, along with the seizure that had caused him to go into it in the first place, a side effect of his long term use of hard drugs.

He had most of his mind right from the start, but his body was weak and had loss some of the connections he'd made as a child to do simple functions like walking and eating with a fork. Frustratingly, he'd had to learn it all back again.

His only solstice was that his parents were there every step of the way. They'd had him transferred to LA after he woke up and had regularly visited him in the hospital and Dieter kinda wished he'd heard them while he was taking his long sleep. What had they said to him?

Probably what they'd been saying since. His parents rarely missed a chance to tell him they loved him, that they regretted letting his addictions come between them.

"It was my fault," he'd told them, but they'd shaken their heads.

"We didn't go about finding you help like we should've. We gave up too fast."

Dieter didn't care about that though. He was just grateful to have them back in his life. To still have a life at all.

He didn't remember the fateful night that had led to his coma, but he was able to video chat with Perry on his laptop and his friend filled in the blanks.

They'd gotten together and Perry had given him all the cocaine he could ask for. They'd gotten comfortable on the couch and rode out their highs talking about the trouble they used to get into in high school. Then he had began seizing sometime after midnight and Perry had dialed 911.

Even with the fill in, Dieter felt he was missing something. Something important. But any time he tried to recall his night with Perry, he got nothing.

He had dreams though, often several times a week, of him patrolling Perry's mansion alone, of an attractive woman chatting away with him at the dining room table, of him kissing her in the shadows of the night, and those felt like the missing pieces, lost memories, but they couldn't be. He couldn't have been a ghost while he was in the coma, he reasoned.

But all the reasoning in the world wouldn't allow him to shake it off. Eventually he caved and asked Perry, who was visiting him after getting out of rehab, to describe the woman who had bought the mansion from him.

When he gave every detail he could think of, Dieter was flabbergasted.

The woman Perry had detailed sounded exactly like the woman in his dreams...

But it couldn't be, could it?

He decided there was only one way to find out.

As soon as he was back to full strength, he'd fly out to New Orleans and knock on your door.

He'd find out once and for all if any of it had been real.

x

He didn't mean to go to New Orleans on Halloween, but that's how it ended up - with him on an early flight to one of the spookiest cities in the world on the arguably spookiest day of the year.

He took a taxi to get to your house and hesitantly made his way to the front door.

How should he go about telling you he had dreams about you? To ask if you knew him when he was in his coma and was a ghost? What if it had really all been in his head?

There were several carved orange pumpkins on the front porch - jack o' lanterns - something he didn't remember you having last year, and they immediately sent him into a spiral of deep uncertainty.

She can't be her, he thought. She didn't decorate for Halloween last year.

It was kind of ridiculous to assume that just because you hadn't had Halloween decorations one year you wouldn't have them the next, but that was how much he was doubting himself.

He took a moment to beat down his nerves on your doorstep, shake it off, then knocked, not knowing if you'd hear it or if you were even on the same side of the house. Not knowing if you were home at all.

You were both shocked when you opened the door and found yourselves staring at each other.

How could it be? You'd assumed Dieter had moved on well over half a year ago, and yet there he was before you, looking very much alive and in a fresh pair of black jeans and an olive green button down shirt that was basically his tan shirt's twin.

"Holy shit, I didn't think you were actually real!" Dieter exclaimed.

"Are you?" you inquired. "Last I knew you were dead. What the fuck?"

He guffawed and you marveled at the way the skin around his eyes crinkled, at how they shined with life. His hair was more gray than you remembered, but it only added to how alive he looked.

"It turns out I wasn't actually dead," he explained. "I was in a coma. I woke up in a hospital bed back in January and found out I'd been unconscious for several months. I didn't overdose, but I'd had seizures from the cocaine I took. I had no idea that could be a side effect. The doctors said it was a miracle I survived, let alone had a full recovery."

You stepped outside with him. "And you've stayed clean?"

He huffed. "Of fuckin' course. I'm not a complete idiot. I'm not going through that shit again. Physical therapy was a bigger pain in my ass than any of the cravings could ever be."

You laughed briefly before your expression turned serious again. "That's good."

"I wanted to see you sooner," he told you, scratching at his cheek over the beard he still had, though it was more neatly trimmed than it had been the last time you'd seen him. "But I wanted to be fully recovered before I flew back out here, and for part of that time I didn't remember being here. Not even the night me and Perry hung out in the living room."

You folded your arms, nodded, and pursed your lips. "So how much do you remember now?"

You tried to keep your expectations low but there was a knife stabbing at your heart when you realized that he might not be able to recall much of you at all. Did he even remember your kiss?

Dieter smiled. "I remember us not getting off on the right foot, and maybe scaring you on purpose a few times."

You gaped at him. "I KNEW it!"

He grinned slyly and continued, "I remember how we used to talk a lot, and how that would drain my energy right out, but I'd always linger a little too long, until I had no choice but to slip into the darkness to rest for a while. I remember loving your sarcastic sense of humor and the way you lose your breath when you laugh too hard. And I...remember that night, when we kissed."

That had been something else. Unexpectedly titillating. It was by far the sharpest memory he had of that time he'd spent between worlds.

"I don't know if you remember it, but I regretted every day since that I said what I said that night," you told him, chewing your lip.

He nodded. "I remember. But you weren't wrong. You deserve to be with someone breathing, and I was really getting sick of being stuck in the house."

You chuckled but the sound was cut short when you felt him palm your cheek.

He was sooo warm. Real.

Your stomach fluttered when your eyes met.

"I thought I'd never get to say goodbye," you whispered. "All I wanted after I woke up to an empty house was to get that chance. But this, this is so much better."

"I missed you," Dieter admitted, drawing closer to you.

You beamed at him and he felt his chest warm.

"I missed you too."

He pulled you into a kiss, far more passionate than the first you'd shared, and you gripped onto his elbows tightly, fiercely clinging to him, almost afraid to let go.

When you eventually did, you smirked at him. "You're a day late for our anniversary, you know."

"First meetings do not count," he claimed.

"Oh yes they do," you countered.

"Well, excuse me for fuckin' forgetting to fly out yesterday. Pretty sure I still have some brain damage."

You huffed playfully. "Excuses."

Dieter shook his head at you fondly and kissed you again.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Main Masterlist

xxx

[copperbadge]

Howdy! I am considering submitting manuscripts I've written to a publisher or possibly self publishing. The publisher states on their website that authors must maintain an active social media presence. I'm not normally a social media type, Tumblr is my only one. What would you reccommend for such? Is it worth it to pay someone to make a website for me? Thanks and many virtual kisses for Dot and Deebs!

Honestly, I haven't submitted to a publisher since before a lot of modern social media existed. :D

It is my understanding, but this is secondhand information, that publishers want you to have either a twitter or a tiktok, preferably both, where you're frequently active and have a high follower count, because they want you to be able to publicize your book on it. One of many reasons I don't even consider trad publishing anymore is that I don't want to spend a significant chunk of my time filming videos for the sole purpose of hawking my books.

Now, as I said, that's an inference I've drawn; you may want to speak to someone who has been trad published recently to get the inside scoop (readers if you work in publishing or have been published recently, feel free to add commentary; remember to comment or reblogs, as I don't repost asks sent in response to other asks). I do have an author website but I built my own; I don't know what the going rate is for paying someone to build one these days but most website platforms are pretty intuitive to use -- I built mine on Wordpress and I'm building a new one on Wix currently, and at this point both are very drag-and-drop oriented. I do think a website is a good thing for an author to have, but I wouldn't pay someone to build one for you until you've taken a swing at DIY and decided it's not where you want to spend your time and energy.

In terms of self-publishing, the good news is that none of the rules apply; this is also the bad news. :D Because the thing about selfpub is that you either pay or DIY for...everything. It can be very inexpensive; when I publish a book the only direct monetary cost is what I pay for an ISBN and a proof copy of the book, which I will make back in the first 10 sales or so. However, I am "paying" in man hours in terms of typesetting, cover design, uploading the PDFs to lulu.com, proofing the initial copy, correcting the proof and reuploading (which usually involves further typesetting), and of course all the publicity -- website design and redesign, copywriting, tumblr posting. And while my profit per copy sold is well above what most authors with traditional publishers will make, that's because the publisher is doing a lot of the work for you. And, because I don't have an active twitter or tiktok or a publisher, my books are not very widely publicized. Undoubtedly I sell fewer copies than I would if I had a robust twitter following, but catch me touching that rancid wasteland without inch-thick gloves on.

So -- I think it's probably pretty important to understand that I have deliberately rejected trad publishing for good but not lucrative reasons, and I'm considered at best an iconoclast and more commonly a crank for having done so. If you can go the tradpub route, I would, but I also wouldn't put any money you're not prepared to write off as a loss into that pursuit. Definitely I would see if there's anyone in the industry you can reach out to who can answer these questions with a more thorough understanding of what publishers look for in an author and how to go about achieving that than I possess.

In any case, good luck! It's a journey regardless and I hope you enjoy your time on the path wherever you end up. And I'll give the cryptids a special cuddle for ya.

[theirprofoundbond]

I am SO excited to be offering an auction for this year's @fandomtrumpshate!

My auction is for one of the following—winner's choice!

Beta reading for a Supernatural fanfic of up to 50k

An editorial letter for an original work of fiction of up to 75k

The minimum bid is $5. My auction will benefit one of the following:

Freedom to Read Foundation

One of four LGBTQ+ orgs pre-selected by FTH

An org I chose to include: Rainbow Migration, a UK-based org that supports LGBTQI+ people through the asylum and immigration system

Details on what I'm offering:

Beta reading for Supernatural fanfiction: I’ll beta read a single completed fanfic of up to 50k words. I’ll do 1 thorough, top-to-bottom pass on the work, plus another 1-2 passes to help you take care of anything that crops up during my beta read that might result in rewriting or reworking. My beta reading work encompasses:

general discussions and troubleshooting

concept, plot, and structure

canon details and characterization

tone, pacing, flow, etc.

consistency/continuity

clarity with wording/visualization

spelling, punctuation, and grammar

Editorial letter for original fiction: I’ll read a single piece of completed original fiction of up to 75k words, and write an editorial letter/manuscript evaluation for you. An editorial letter is a highly personalized, in-depth analysis of your story. This type of edit is developmental/conceptual—it talks about the work as a whole, in big-picture ways. No line edits or adjustments to the text itself are being done. While an editorial letter typically includes some positive feedback, it focuses on constructive criticism. The contents are entirely customized to whatever is going on in your story; I offer my insights as well as possible options for addressing weaknesses or issues.

If this sounds scary, don’t worry! I’m very gentle, and the goal is to deliver useful, actionable feedback that you can use to create a stronger draft. I highly recommend this type of edit if you’re looking to pitch your story to agents and/or seek traditional publication. The market rate for an editorial letter is easily several hundred dollars at minimum, so this is a steal!

My Experience:

Fanfiction: I've posted over 100k words' worth of my own fanfiction on AO3, and I've beta read over 300k words' worth of fanfiction for other authors. I've written a well-received guide to beta reading for both authors and beta readers.

Original fiction: I'm a Staff Editor for @duckprintspress, an independent press that publishes original fiction by authors of fanfiction! I've been involved with the Press since October 2022 and I've worked with 8 different authors to edit 9 short stories that have been published in 3 of our physical and e-book anthologies. I'm currently editing an additional 3 short stories and a novel of 100k+ words. As a freelance editor, I've edited several short stories and a few novels. I have experience working on novel-length fanfics that were turned into original stories.

As both a beta reader and an editor, I'm gentle, patient and friendly. My approach to editing is that I'm not here to tell you what to do, I'm here to help you tell the story you want to tell.

See my auction listing for the full details.

💲 Bidding opens on Tuesday, February 25, and closes on Saturday, March 2.

❤️ Signal boosts are greatly appreciated!

💪 Let's raise some money for charity!

[tarysande]

Hi! I’m considering becoming an editor but I’m not sure if it’s the right fit for me. If you don’t mind answering, what was your path like for becoming an editor, and what does the job mostly consist of for you?

Additionally, while I really do like helping other people’s work become better, I get too in my head to release a lot of my own work. Does editing require you to also be a writer most of the time, or could I get by mostly just editing?

Thanks!

Hi, anonymous friend!

These are really good questions for a potential editor to ask.

To (sort-of) answer your question, the amount of writing involved depends on the type of editing, honestly. So, first you have to decide what kind of editor you want to be.

Roughly, editing breaks down into three-to-four types: developmental/substantive, line/stylistic, copy editing, and proofreading. These terms are mixed up and interchanged ... often. Increasingly, line editing includes or incorporates copy editing, which is why I say "three-to-four."

Developmental is the big picture stuff, including manuscript critiques. Books of all kinds usually undergo some kind of developmental editing--by editorial agents, acquisitions editors, freelance developmental editors, etc. In my experience, this is also the kind of editing that requires the most writing and/or the most author/editor interaction.

Stylistic/line editing tends to be editing at the sentence level, looking at diction, structure, clarity, consistency, etc. Copy editing, on the other hand, is what many people think of when they think of editing--it's the mechanics of writing, like spelling, grammar, punctuation.

Proofreading is the rather specialized skill of editing proofs. They're the final eyes on a pre-published piece; they're looking for typos and errors rather than anything that will involve significant authorial changes because a proof page has already been "set" (as it were).

All of these kinds of editing can be applied to many different areas of communication, and the editors who perform them can be self-employed (like me) or work for an employer (i.e., as a more traditional employee). Employee editors might work in-house at a publisher (of books, magazines, academic journals, etc.), or they might have any number of editing-focused roles in business, government, education, etc. Self-employed editors may also end up working as contractors for other companies; this is pretty normal.

Many book publishers, including the Big Five, farm out a lot of their editing these days, by the way. Especially the copy editing and proofreading. So, those particular jobs are dwindling as in-house options. Publishers can pay freelancers less ... and avoid paying benefits. (#capitalism)

I will also say that, especially in jobs with anything to do with marketing or advertising, there's a lot of annoying scope creep where "copy editor" is often expected to be a copy writer, too. Again, it's a symptom of employers wanting to pay fewer people to do more jobs (and it's really annoying).

My path has mostly involved trying as many things as possible and slowly weeding out the ones I don't like. I've pretty much always been self-employed because the personal benefits (setting my own schedule, rates, deadlines) works better for me. That said, I'm Canadian (so I don't have to worry about employer-covered healthcare), and I have a partner whose salary is regular and whose benefits cover me, so I don't have some of the worries a freelancer in the US or a single-income household might have. I'm increasingly working on the development side of things because big-picture storytelling, including writing and editor/author interaction, is my jam. But I have also done a ton of line/copy editing on fiction, non-fiction, academic work, etc.

Without knowing what kind of editing you're looking to get into, it's harder for me to offer suggestions for next steps, but generally, I'd say it's important to get SOME training--whether through a school, a certificate program, or the various workshops and professional development offered by editing associations (Editors Canada, the CIEP, ACES, the EFA, ...there's an Australian one whose acronym has slipped my mind). Researching the flavor of editing you're interested in will probably offer up avenues for study, too. For example, most US publishers/authors use iterations of the Chicago Manual of Style. Most UK publishers/authors use Hart's Rules/Oxford. Academic journals/schools/students have different style guides (APA, AMA, MLA, Harvard, Vancouver). Law uses the Blue Book. It's good to have working knowledge of a few style guides--and then you have to keep up with the changes (Chicago's 18th edition is coming out this year, and I hear some significant changes are afoot--such as fully embracing the singular they!).

The tl;dr here is that yes, there are a lot of writer-editors. But there are also a lot of editors who aren't writers at all, or who have no interest in becoming writers, or who don't want their writing and editing to overlap, or who edit because they like helping people and they value clarity. At the end of the day, editing and writing are two very different hats, and you don't necessarily need to wear both.

...this is already a bit long, but if you have other questions or want me to get more specific about something, please ask!

[wingfril]

My newest shipment just arrived so let’s talk about some (recent) lottery-only items! The picture above is from the most recent d.grayman playing card drawing, which you could’ve entered by subbing to zebrack comics.

They’re really pretty! I don’t know if it was worth $350 dollars though. There’s only 2 types of illustrations plus the card back and spades,

Funny thing about the prices — I’m pretty sure I’m the reason why the floor for this is 350 on mercari. When the drawing results come out, several people started selling the cards on mercari. I knew I wanted something that’s super exclusive like this, so I started paying attention. There were three sellers in particular competition against each other. over a span of around 2-3 days, the price dropped from ~100k yen down to 59k yen. Keep in mind that these drops were mostly happening while I was asleep being on the east coast. My ideal price would’ve been around 200 usd or ~30k yen, but I’m willing to pay more. Right before going to bed, I saw that the price has fallen to below 60k, and said screw it. Next morning, I woke up, and the main price competitor’s cards were also sold, and a few days later the third person, with a slightly higher price, also ended up selling. Since the price decreases happen primarily while I was asleep, and I knew that as soon as one sells, the other is going to get bought up too, might as well pay a little extra. I’m also 99% sure that at least 2/3 of the other sets on mercari was bought by chinese people, since I see their posts on chinese social media.

To be honest though, if I knew that there’s only two new drawings on these cards, I probably would’ve waited a bit longer before buying them. Oh well.

The other lottery item I had is from the vol 28 drawing.

They’re B5 sized manuscript replicas. They’re stunning — you can see so many details on these. Every stroke on neah/mana’s hair is clear as day. I’d like to frame them but *screams in nyc and paper walls*.

The other drawing item is a acrylic board of the vol 28 cover.

I’m still debating on buying that off of mercari. I think I will once the yen drops a little more, but we’ll see. I wouldn’t lose sleep over not getting it.

As a side note unrelated to dgm: the reason why I’m buying so much recently is 1. I realized that a few thousand literally makes no difference to me and my house owning goals (I LOVE NYC) and 2. The yen is incredibly cheap right now. Even though some Japanese collectors are price gauging, some of the items are not too much more expense than their originals price (there’s a few absurd outliers, which I’ll covered in two months… because I paid for some of the outliers and now they have to be shipped from China).

The Japanese fed has spent billions on trying to stabilize the currency, but to no avail. it’s really bad for any Japanese companies doing import, but it’s really really good for usd based consumers. As long as the US federal reserve and their interest rate remains high (and a bunch of other factors), yen is going to continue getting crushed against the dollar. There’s some items I’m eyeing on that I’ll probably only buy if the yen drops to at least 1:160 against the dollar. If you zoom into the last month of usd:yen, you can literally see when the Japanese fed intervened.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: December Wrap-Up.

So I had High Ambitions for December, forgetting that it was, in fact, December™, and forgetting that I was behind on gift knitting, and that typing a manuscript takes Longer Than I Think It Will, Every Time. Also, I played through Alan Wake (OG) with my brother, and then I watched him play chunks of II as a Sibling Bonding Activity, which was fun! But it definitely also Took Time haha.

I did make it through my "24 in 2024" list by the 31st, though! Feeling very accomplished on that front--everything I read this month came off that list. The list worked well for me (I'm a mood reader, but a Targeted Mood Reader; if I have Too Many Options, I get whelmed, so carving my entire TBR down into smaller bite sized pieces helps a lot!), and I'm excited to make another one for next year.

Photos and/or reviews liked below:

DAWN - ★★★ Got this one in a translation subscription box (perhaps now defunct)--it's not the sort of thing I'd usually pick up, but I did have a Turkish Writer Phase back in college, so I was interested when it was delivered to me specially. Very psychological and set in a historical context I am SUPER not familiar with (1970s Turkey), very brutal, very fluid POV transitions, very timely (and I didn't realize how much pieces of it burrowed into my brain until sitting down to write this wrap-up a month later). If you're into lit fic and can stomach the content warnings, definitely check this out!

HOW TO BE EATEN - ★★★½ I had more fun with this one than anticipated! Made me laugh, but also didn't flinch from ugly shit. Very readable, neat takes on modernized fairy tales and media, and I liked guessing at the short scenes between the "Week" sections--neatly structured book!

THE SPIDER AND HER DEMONS - ★★★½ Another good time!! Breakneck pacing at the beginning (almost to the point of absurdity, but maybe that's just how YA is these days?? unclear) and then it weirdly slowed WAY down once we got to something resembling Loadbearing Plot (the "witnessed eating a man" thing referenced on the jacket), but I enjoyed it a lot overall! Vaguely reminiscent of The Locked Tomb in unexpected ways (more on this in the linked review!).

SELF-PORTRAIT WITH NOTHING - ★★★★½ REALLY liked this one--just my speed of Weird and Fucked Up and Funnier Than Expected (ah yes: my trifecta lol). Interesting take on alternate realities and very much heart crimes: The Family Edition. Good shit, check it out (brace for on-page vet office visits though. and like. abandonment of human child).

UNEXPECTED PLACES TO FALL FROM, UNEXPECTED PLACES TO LAND - ★★★ A handful of good stories in here, and I liked the bridge novella, but I wish they were more Interconnected than Anthology.

Under the Cut: A Note About ~*★Stars★*~

Historically, I have been Very Bad™ about assigning things Star Ratings, because it's so Vibes Heavy for me and therefore Contingent Upon my Whims. (Example: I don't like that stars are Odd, because that makes three the midpoint and things are rarely so truly mid for me)(I have hacked my way around this with a ½). Here is, generally, how I conceptualize stars:

★ - This was Bad. I would actively recommend that you do NOT read this one, no redeeming qualities whatsoever, not worth the slog. Save Yourself, It's Too Late For Me. Book goes in the garbage (donate bin).

★★ - This was Not Good. I would not recommend it, but it wasn't a total waste or wash--something in here held my interest/kept my attention/sparked some joy. I will not be rereading this ever. Save Yourself (Or Join Me In Suffering, That Seems Like A Cool Bonding Activity).

★★★ - This was Good/Fine/Okay/Meh. I don't care about this enough to recommend it one way or another. Perfectly serviceable book, held my interest, I probably enjoyed myself (or at least didn't actively loathe the reading). I don't have especially strong feelings. You probably don't need to save yourself from this one--if it sounds like your jam, give it a shot! Just didn't resonate with me particularly powerfully. I probably won't reread this unless I'm after something in particular.

★★★½ - I liked this! I'll probably recommend it if I know it matches someone's vibes or specific requests, but I didn't commit to a star rating on Goodreads. More likely to reread, but not guaranteed.

★★★★ - I really enjoyed this!! I would recommend it (sometimes with caveats about content warnings or such--I tend to like weird fucked up funny shit, and I don't have many hard readerly NO's). Not a perfect book for me by any means, but Very Good. This is something I would reread! Join me!!

★★★★★ - I LOVED THE SHIT OUT OF THIS, IT REWIRED MY BRAIN, WILL RECOMMEND TO ANYONE AND EVERYONE AT THE SLIGHTEST PROVOCATION (content warning caveats still apply--see 4-star disclaimer). Excellent book, I'll reread it regularly, I'll buy copies for all my friends, I'll try to convince all of Booklr to read it, PLEASE join me!!

[scyllaya]

Let me ramble for a moment...

It is funny how inspiration works. I've finished a full original novel in 2020, but it needs further edits and it's been a tough few years with writing for me.

Read more for an update on my original writing.

2020 was a proper bitch of a year, COVID (family members lost), work from home for the first time, surgery, then finishing my masters degree and my novel by the end of the year. I got through it. I properly patted myself on the back for not letting the year get in the way of my progress.

Then burn out. Honest proper bone-deep tiredness. I still got around sending the manuscript early 2021 to some agents, but no takers, so I know it needs editing but it's been tough to find motivation.

Fanfic I managed to write here and there, to just keep the ball rolling, but I kind of lost a lot of interest in Marvel, so, it doesn't inspire as much now. My brain does not work if I don't get my serotonin out of the experience.

So, I decided to write a new original work. Get back to my roots and instead of aiming for something "proper", make it a spicy gay romance. My bread and butter, haha.

35k in, I'm liking it. Put it in the real world, cause world building felt too much as a get back on the horse exercise. I still had to put it in America for the story to work and now suddenly I'm thinking... That 35k is kind of slow burn, we just got to the first sex scene. It would not take a lot of re-write to add a fantasy element. I planned to hsve an international organised crime type theme, but now I'm like... What if it was organised crime with supernatural creatures in the modern day? Maybe not the most original, but it doesn't need to be, not this project.

So, brain's already been spinning and now new ideas are popping off.

I don't want to say gay sex is the cure to a lot of writing woes, but it is good to go back to something familiar.

My prev original work was lower rating, more teen for violence. Of course it still had a gay romance, but for supporting characters. Wrote for mainstream, you know. Lots of original stuff for world-building based on real-world mythology. Lots of research, etc.

I like writing adult themes beyond action and violence though, not sanitised for the publishing industry, where bloody fights are rated teen, but all sexuality is adult by default.

So, if all goes well, I'll just publish this myself and stop thinking about what agents or publishers might actually pick up.

[opal-apparition]

The Pour Over Effect - OpalApparition - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

Solas is a an author trying to finish his manuscript at his usual cafe, and Ellana is the new, terrible, barista that keeps getting his order wrong. A two part love story hot, to go.

Rated General Audiences / Two Chapters / Complete / Modern AU / Coffeeshop AU / Age Difference / Solas is an Idiot / Wholesome Ending

Excerpt:

By midweek, the pattern had become clear: Ellana was utterly incapable of maintaining order. Solas approached the counter with the same sense of resignation that had begun to mark his mornings. “Single-origin Ethiopian pour-over. No milk. No sugar.”

Ellana nodded with enthusiasm that felt increasingly misplaced. “Got it!”

He returned to his table, settling into his work as he waited. His typing was rhythmic, deliberate, though the occasional glance toward the counter betrayed his anticipation. When Ellana finally approached, a mug in hand, her sheepish smile and the faint crease in her brow suggested trouble.

“So... funny story,” she began, setting the cup down with both hands. “I, uh, might’ve made a few drinks at the same time, and... I think this one’s yours?”

Solas stared at the mug, his expression frozen between incredulity and irritation. “You think this one is mine?”

Ellana winced. “I’m... pretty sure?”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, with visible reluctance, he lifted the cup and sniffed. The faint, unmistakable aroma of vanilla syrup wafted up, and his lips pressed into a tight line.

“It’s wrong,” he said flatly, setting the mug down with deliberate care.

Ellana wrung her hands. “Oh no, I’m so sorry! I can remake—”

“No,” Solas interrupted, his tone clipped. “I don’t want to find out what other drink this remake would be swapped with.”

She hesitated, as though expecting more, before nodding and stepping away. Solas waited until she was occupied with another order before raising the cup again. The first sip was an affront—jarring and cloying, the syrup overwhelming the coffee’s natural brightness. He lowered the mug and set it aside, scowling. Yet the taste lingered, insistent, and against his better judgment, he picked it up again. The second sip came slower, his irritation battling against a faint, unwelcome recognition: beneath the syrup, there was something almost enjoyable.

Almost.

Solas scowled harder, forcing himself to stop drinking. He left the mug on the edge of the table, unfinished, as he turned back to his laptop.

...

On Friday morning, Solas approached the counter with his usual request. “Single-origin Ethiopian pour-over. No milk. No sugar.”

Ellana nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration as she scribbled down the order. “Got it! Ethiopian pour-over, no milk, no sugar. Perfect.”

Solas returned to his corner table, his patience stretched thin but intact. She is new, she is learning…  

Several minutes later, Ellana approached him, her hands wrapped tightly around a steaming mug. “Here you go! I think I got it right this time.”

Solas took the cup, sniffing. His brow furrowed immediately. The aroma was unfamiliar—earthy and faintly nutty, lacking the bright citrus notes he expected.

“This isn’t Ethiopian,” he said, his tone sharp. “I’m not even sure this is a medium roast.”

Ellana’s face fell. “What? But I—” She paused, her eyes widening. “Oh no. Wait. I might’ve grabbed the wrong bag.” She winced, her hands flying to her face. “Oh, shit–I mean crap –I think those were the Colombian beans!”

“... Colombian.”

“They were in, uh, similar bags?” she offered weakly. “I didn’t notice until... now.”

For a long moment, he stared at the mug as though it had personally offended him. Finally, he lifted it to his lips and took a slow, reluctant sip. The flavor was smooth and rich, but the absence of the familiar bright blueberry acidity irritated him more than it should. He set the cup down with deliberate care, his frown deepening.

“I can remake it!” Ellana blurted, her voice rising with panic.

“No,” Solas replied, waving her off curtly. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“Quite sure,” he interrupted, his voice cutting.

Ellana bit her lip, nodding quickly before retreating to the counter.

Solas glared at the mug. The coffee wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t what he wanted. He took another cautious sip, letting the unexpected warmth of cocoa linger for a moment too long. It was almost good, almost what he’d asked for, and he hated it for that.

She is new, she is learning, Solas thought, dragging his gaze back to the laptop. She is hopelessly inept.

Read the rest on AO3 :)

[mikkeneko]

Felt like making this post because I realized the other day that not everybody knows about Media Mail! It's less common nowadays, and the USPS doesn't exactly advertise it; it's not up on the board or available at the self-service kiosk, you have to go to an actual post office and ask at the counter.

Media Mail shipping is a cost-effective way to send educational materials. This service has restrictions on the type of media that can be shipped. Media Mail rates are limited to the items listed below: Books (at least 8 pages). Sound recordings and video recordings, such as CDs and DVDs. Play scripts and manuscripts for books, periodicals, and music. Printed music. Computer-readable media containing prerecorded information and guides or scripts prepared solely for use with such media. Sixteen millimeter or narrower width films. Printed objective test materials and their accessories. Printed educational reference charts. Loose-leaf pages and their binders consisting of medical information for distribution to doctors, hospitals, medical schools, and medical students.

Media mail is a much, MUCH cheaper way to send books and other paper materials than UPS, FedEx, or even first class USPS -- today I shipped a box that would have cost something like $50 to send by weight, and instead I was able to send it by media rate for less than $10.

[klausinamarink]

Happy Together

rating: G | cw: none | wc: 419 | tags: modern era, middle aged Steddie | prompt: Love is being able to exist together comfortably, sitting side by side and doing your own thing

written for @steddielovemonth

—

Despite the bright sunny weather outside, neither Steve nor Eddie left their respective seats at the table or voiced aloud the need to go for a walk. The days were getting colder again and both men were more willing to stay inside in sweatpants and the comfiest sweaters they own.

The tip of Eddie’s tongue pokes out as he paints another layer of blue on the tiny Space Marine’s armor. Ever since Warhammer 40k had grabbed him by the throat four months ago, the craft modeling and painting takes up most of his free time, shamefully putting D&D and guitar playing to the side. Steve had given no complaint about Eddie’s new hobby aside from one stern reminder about organization and leaving the bulky boxes to dust. But Steve is often willing to spare time watching Eddie paint and letting him ramble about the Warhammer lore.

Eddie’s eyes started to burn, the telltale sign that he was working for too long. He places down the miniature and brushes, rubbing his eyes without making his glasses fall off again. His back makes tiny cricks as he stretches. An unavoidable symptom of his old age. 

Looking over at Steve, his husband hasn’t moved away from his laptop, typing on the keyboard while muttering some words under his breath. His back is slouching over horribly again so Steve must be editing another manuscript again. Eddie wordlessly presses his pinky finger against Steve’s sternum until his back is straight against the chair again. 

Steve pauses and looks up at Eddie. His eyes are slightly bloodshot from staring at the screen. “You okay?”

Eddie can’t hold back an amused snort, “You’re probably suffering through pages of another Colleen Hoover mimic and you’re asking moi?” He plants a kiss on Steve’s stubbled cheek, feeling the dimples of his husband’s grin. “Yeah, I’m fine, just need a little break. You want some tea?”

“Please.” Steve sighs, running fingers through his hair. “And it’s not a romance this time.” 

After Eddie returns with two steaming cups, Steve gives him a thankful kiss before returning to his editing duties. Eddie takes another moment to stretch his wrists before he picks up the miniature and paintbrush again.

Sometimes on quiet-somewhat lazy days like this, they would play something on the TV or either of their phones just to generate some background noise to soothe their understimulation. But for today, it feels better to work in silence as Eddie and Steve exist lovingly and comfortably in each other’s presence. 

[marie-is-seein-stars]

KING OF WRATH (part 3)

Content Warning: This story contains explicit sexual content, profanity, mild violence, and topics that may be sensitive to some readers.

Rating:18+

Minors, please do not interact with this post, as I DO NOT want it to get taken down.

“You look like you could use the pick-me-up.” He responded with a questioning arch of his brow. “You’re off schedule,” I explained. “You’d never go off schedule unless something’s wrong.” The arch smoothed, replaced with a tiny crinkle at the corners of his eyes. My heartbeat faltered at the unexpectedly endearing sight. It’s just a smile. Get it together. “I wasn’t aware you paid so much attention to my schedule.” Flecks of laughter glimmered beneath Chris’s voice. Heat flooded my cheeks for the second time that night. This is what I get for being a Good Samaritan. “I don’t make a point of it,” I said defensively. “You’ve been coming to the bar every week since I started working here, but you’ve never showed up on a Monday. I’m simply observant.” I should’ve stopped there, but my mouth ran off before my brain could catch up. “Rest assured, you’re not my type, so you don’t have to worry about me hitting on you.” That much was true. Objectively, I recognized Chan’s appeal, but I liked my men rougher around the edges. He was as straitlaced as they came. Even if he wasn’t, fraternization between club members and employees was strictly forbidden, and I had no desire to upend my life over a man again, thank you very much. That didn’t stop my traitorous hormones from sighing every time they saw him. It was annoying as hell. “Good to know.” The flecks of laughter shone brighter as he brought the glass to his lips. “Thank you. I have a soft spot for strawberry gin and tonics.” This time, my heartbeat didn’t so much falter as stop altogether, if only for a split second. Soft spot? What does that mean? It means nothing, a voice grumbled in the back of my head. He’s talking about the drink, not you. Besides, he’s not your type. Remember? Oh, shut up, Debbie Downer. Great. Now my inner voices were arguing with each other. I didn’t even know I had more than one inner voice. 

If that wasn’t a sign I needed sleep and not another night agonizing over my manuscript, nothing was. “You’re welcome,” I said, a tad belatedly. My pulse drummed in my ears. “Well, I should—” “Sorry I’m late.” A tall, blond man swept into the seat next to Kai’s, his voice as brisk as the late September chill clinging to his coat. “My meeting ran over.” He spared me a brief glance before turning back to Chris. Dark gold hair, navy eyes, the bone structure of a Calvin Klein model, and the warmth of the iceberg from Titanic.Hwang Hyunjin, the reigning king of Versace. I recognized him on sight. It was hard to forget that face, even if his social skills could use improvement. Relief and an annoying niggle of disappointment swept through me at the interruption, but I didn’t wait for Christopher’s response. I booked it to the other side of the bar, hating the way his soft spot comment lingered like it was anything but a throwaway remark. If he wasn’t my type, I definitely wasn’t his. He dated the kind of woman who sat on charity boards, summered in the Hamptons, and matched their pearls to their Chanel suits. There was nothing wrong with any of those things, but they weren’t me. I blamed my outsize reaction to his words on my self-imposed dry spell. I was so starved for touch and affection I’d probably get giddy off a wink from that cat that walks on Han River. It had nothing to do with Christopher himself. I didn’t return to his side of the bar again for the rest of the night. Luckily, working a half shift meant I could clock out early. At five to ten, I transferred my remaining tabs to Mary, said my goodbyes, and grabbed my bag from the back room, all without looking at a certain billionaire with a penchant for Hemingway.

[squarebracket-trickster]

I am exhausted as all fuck right now (the chronic fatigue is kicking my ass). But I am going to try to write anyway. It's been too long since I last added to my manuscript and my brain is getting itchy. (You know, that kind of itch that's like: there are too many thoughts inside you right now and you need to get them out. But also, the itch that's like: at this rate you'll never finish this draft, you need to work on it now. And also, the itch that's like: look at all the amazing things other people are creating, doesn't this fill you with yearning? - that could be your stuff *ahem*.)

I have like 10 million better things I could be doing right now, but I've spend the past few weeks not writing when I wanted to because I was doing those 10 million other things. So sorry, life responsibilities, but you'll have to wait. Besides the only thing I actually have the energy for right now is scrolling on my phone. Which. I have done enough of today. If I have to look at one more TikTok I swear to god

Normally, I don't like to write unless I have the energy to make it good, but at this point I don't care. The other night, overcome with an urge to write something, anything, I just started typing without thinking too hard, and it was actually decent when I reread it a few days later.

All that is to say, the exercise has filled me with hubris for what I can accomplish while in the midst of a fatigue flare.

Alas, writing sesh goal for today:

I'm starting with 50755 words (not including whatever I've done of the OOB scene). Idk what percent of /80 000 that is. I have exactly 2500 words worth of second draft (and OOB scene) that I had pasted into my 3rd draft ages ago so I could rework them, which I started doing but have yet to finish.

Today's word goal is not a percent or a number, it's just to finally get rid of those second draft scenes (and be all caught up to the OOB scene). I am tired of not being able just to use the word count meter at the bottom of my doc without having to do math.

And remember, Square: just fill in the missing worldbuilding, description, names, continuity etc. Cut out anything that doesn't need to be there. You can monkey around with the pacing and line edits if you see an easy fix, but no. perfectionism. no. If the sentence doesn't come to you within a minute, leave it. That's what draft 4 is for (that's future me's problem hehe).

--

Oh, the other good news is that I just had a shower and my hair is very soft, so soft. you have no idea. peasants

[imagine-sissyphus-smiling]

How might one get into "reading for a living" because that's a dream job

it is not a dream job, its called publishing and i make less than 40k a year LOL.

to be less arch, im an editor, and i work in editorial which is the 'flashy' department (lmao), but it's a pretty stressful job. obviously it's one i enjoy because no one would stay in the industry unless they got some reward for it. but still. i say 'reading books' is my job but thats probably only like 40% of it. a lot of my day to day work involves nagging people for deadlines, having meetings abt whether XYZ feature will cost extra, researching marketing trends, etc. YMMV if you work as a book designer or some other dept, i know they have different rules. this isnt to bitch but i think publishing has REALLY good PR among english majors and these are things i wish someone had told me before i sunk money into a publishing degree. BTW: dont get a publishing degree. experience > MA in publishing

so like, i cant in good conscience recommend the industry -- its sort of like going to grad school except with worse pay (the phd candidate gets a stipend; the unpaid intern does not.) but if you already have prion disease and you want to go into publishing, heres what i got

publishing advice below:

first things first, you need book experience. you can get this through the obvious ways (working on ur college lit mag, unpaid internships, copyediting freelance work) but i feel like that prob goes without saying. so what ill say is: if none of those options work, you could always work at a bookstore. lots of the editors i work with actually got their start by saying in the interview, "i worked at barnes and noble and noticed that [category] sells well. i love noticing which books resonate with people" or what have you

i will say that i work in nonfiction publishing, which has some differences from like, editing queer YA fiction. one of those jobs is more competitive than the other. and the industry standards are pretty toxic (if your author misses his deadline and sends the manuscript at 6pm, tough shit, you have to work late to make sure the book doesn't miss its pub date. if you're not thinking about all your books constantly, you must not really care. etc.)

that said one of the best things i can recommend is looking into publishing jobs in different departments. most people are competing for editorial department jobs (things like acquiring and signing books, and being the main point of contact for an author.) but if your passion mostly lies in editing or making things pristine, managing editorial departments often hire production editors who still read through all the books, but their day to day work is more like proofreading, checking barcodes, and other printing related tasks.

theres also finance. finance publishing jobs are never anyones first choice, but on the plus side, you wont have to tell the author why his advance is late. thats the acquiring editor's job. and also lots of people pivot to editorial after they have some years doing finance, design, production, etc.

i will say there are way more remote publishing jobs now than ever. theyre all super competitive but you should apply anyway. if youre entry level, look for "editorial assistant" type roles. some of these actually pay really well: to give an example, harvard hires copyeditors and editorial assistants at a rate which is more than my yearly salary. i mean, its harvard. you gotta look around. but there are more options besides the big 5 publishers. academic publishing is its own field! work at your favorite journal/database! work at JSTOR or wiley!

i dont think theres anything else i would add, other than just random shit talking abt industry standards and quirks of the industry. i dont want to sound whiny because i realize im lucky to be working in my field -- but, i think people oversell publishing as one of "the only career options for english majors."

to be totally honest, most people could make double or triple my salary from being a project manager or corporate editor. so if you enjoy reading and editing, there are better options to you than trade publishing. if you enjoy the act of connecting with authors and making their vision a reality, you might enjoy publishing. or you might not. idk!

[ao3feed-fratt]

The Manuscript

The Manuscript https://archiveofourown.org/works/59553277 by nothanks42069 Peter had lost everything. He had quite literally nothing. So when he is lying unconscious on a rooftop on Hells Kitchen, who is going to save him? Enter Mathew Murdock and Frank Castle. Can Peter have something or has 'Parker Luck' cursed him forever? POST NO WAY HOME please read the tags!! COVER FROM PINTEREST & TITLE FROM TTPD TAYLOR SWIFT cross-posted on wattpad under biderman14 Words: 1841, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M Characters: Peter Parker, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Wade Wilson, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Karen Page Relationships: Matt Murdock & Peter Parker, Frank Castle & Peter Parker, Frank Castle & Matt Murdock, Frank Castle/Matt Murdock, Peter Parker & Wade Wilson Additional Tags: Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, no beta we die like frank castles family, Protective Frank Castle, Soft Frank Castle, but only for peter and matt, Matt Murdock Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Protective Matt Murdock, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Post-Movie: Spider-Man: No Way Home (2021), I hate tagging, Dead Aunt May Parker (Marvel) via AO3 works tagged 'Frank Castle/Matt Murdock' https://archiveofourown.org October 07, 2024 at 04:00PM

[peonyblossom]

Whatever You Want

Book: Open Heart (post-series) Pairing(s): Ethan Ramsey x m!MC (Sydney Valentine) Other characters: Burrito Ramsey-Valentine; Caramel Ramsey-Valentine Words: 993 Category: fluff Rating: general AO3 link here Summary: When Ethan tries to work on his day off, someone tries to distract him instead. A/N: Based on a request from @dr-colossal-pita for the @choicesflashfics prompt from February (I'm so sorry it's literally been like six months) “I would love nothing more than to spoil you with attention, but it’s going to have to wait until later.” (prompt appears in bold)

Sydney would kill Ethan if he knew he was working on his day off, but he had a deadline and he didn’t want to leave this to the last minute. So, Ethan was sitting at the desk in his home office, writing. He was almost done with the first draft of his second book. He was on the last chapter and really just wanted to power through. He was in the zone, the words flowing on the page.

He barely even noticed when Burrito jumped onto the desk. He would’ve ignored the cat, except Burrito walked across the keyboard, typing a string of random letters and special characters into Ethan’s document.

“What are you doing?” Ethan asked, causing Burrito to turn and face him. Burrito stepped towards Ethan, pressing more keys. He rubbed his head against Ethan’s chest and Ethan instinctively reached out to pet the top of Burrito’s head. “I would love nothing more than to spoil you with attention, but it’s going to have to wait until later.”

Ignoring Ethan’s comment, Burrito simply jumped onto Ethan’s lap and curled up, purring. Ethan sighed and scratched Burrito’s head. “Well at least you aren’t on my keyboard anymore.” Ethan deleted the string of gibberish Burrito had typed and continued working on his manuscript. 

It took a while, but Ethan eventually got back in the zone, just writing, paying no attention to how much time had passed. He had no idea how long he’d been writing for nor how long Burrito had been laying on his lap. 

Ethan had been surprised when they got their first cat, Caramel, at how much she liked him and how much he liked her. He had never been big on pets, especially as an adult. He just felt he didn’t have the time to take care of one. Nevertheless, Sydney had managed to convince him to adopt her. Getting a pet together was one of their first big relationship milestones. Ethan had never thought they would get a second cat, but Sydney said Caramel needed a friend and Ethan begrudgingly agreed, so they adopted Burrito as a celebration for their first wedding anniversary. Once again he was shocked by how much the kitten liked him. Despite the cats being Sydney’s idea, they had both taken a liking to Ethan instead. They loved Sydney too of course, but Ethan was their favorite. Sydney said it was because Ethan was softer and therefore more comfortable, but Ethan didn’t care what the reason was, he didn’t understand why they chose him when Sydney was the one who really wanted them. But even then, Ethan had grown to love them. 

Sydney referred to the cats as “their children,” since they weren’t planning to have any. At first Ethan thought it was ridiculous, but over time he realized just how similar the cats were to human babies. They would scream for all the same reasons babies cry – hunger, attention, just generally needing help. Although he wasn’t confident in his abilities in the beginning, Ethan now loved taking care of them and was actually pretty good at it.

It only took Ethan another hour to finish his manuscript draft, but by the time he finished, Burrito was still curled up on his lap. He sighed, but was thankful he had a book to read right on his desk so he didn’t have to get up and disturb Burrito. Ethan leaned back in his chair, carefully putting his feet on the desk so as to disturb Burrito as little as possible while still getting into a more comfortable reading position. Thankfully, Burrito just cuddled against Ethan in this new position, still asleep. Ethan smiled to himself and opened his book.

A while later, Sydney finally got home from his shift at the hospital and was surprised to only see Caramel lounging on the cat tree when he walked in the door. Usually, Ethan would be in the living room reading or watching a documentary.

“Babe?” Sydney called out.

“In here!” Ethan instinctively called back from the study. 

Sydney followed his voice into the study and found Ethan sitting back in his desk chair. “Were you working on your day off?”

“Yes, but I finished my first draft.” Ethan smiled. He knew Sydney wouldn’t stay mad at him. 

“Oh yay!” Sydney ran behind the desk to hug Ethan. “I’m still mad at you for working when you should be resting, but I’m also super proud of you. Oh! And I see Burrito is proud of you too!” Sydney reached down to pet Burrito in Ethan’s lap.

“I think he’s taking after you. He stepped on my keyboard and stood in front of the computer so I couldn’t work.”

“Aw, that’s my boy!” Sydney smiled, then said to Ethan, “Now let’s get you out of this office and go celebrate! Ooh, we can walk over to that new Mexican place!” 

“Of course you want to celebrate with food.” Ethan laughed.

Sydney pouted and responded, “I just got off a fourteen hour shift, okay? I’m hungry.”

“Okay, okay, but what are we going to do with this little burrito?” Ethan gestured to the cat still in his lap.

“I’ll take care of him.” Sydney dramatically swooped Burrito up and out of Ethan’s lap. “It’s my turn with Daddy now, okay?” Sydney said to the cat, carrying him out of the room. Ethan followed him and watched as he placed Burrito on the couch. Sydney turned to Ethan and said, “Let’s go!” 

Before they reached the door, Burrito, who had jumped off the couch and ran ahead, did. He looked back at them as they approached and once Ethan was close enough, rubbed his head against his leg. Ethan chuckled and reached down to pick up Burrito. He hugged him to his chest and looked at Sydney. “Maybe we should just order takeout tonight.” 

Sydney laughed and said, “Okay, babe, whatever you want. Or whatever Burrito wants, I suppose.”